


Out of Time

by MissJeeves



Series: Timely [4]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bad Boyd, Bath Sex, Beating, Gen, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Violence, Stabbing, Threats of Violence, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJeeves/pseuds/MissJeeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two rendezvous, one nice the other not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Time

Raylan Givens gets arrested the day he leaves the hospital. Tim tried to do it before that, but he can’t get any federal charges and, hey, this way, Raylan won’t immediately know Tim’s responsible.

He correctly predicts that the henchman driving Raylan back to Harlan will just so happen to be in possession of controlled substances. Tim gets a LPD K9 unit to pull the vehicle over right outside the hospital parking lot.

Raylan protests that he has a prescription for the legal stuff, but the patrolman arrests him along with the driver. The charges almost certainly won’t stick. But they will land Raylan in a jail clinic for a couple of months while Boyd’s sleazy lawyers battle to get it all thrown out.

The Bennett-Crowder throwdown turned out quite well for the Crowder clan. They’ve moved in to the marijuana distribution business formerly controlled by the Bennetts, according to the DEA.

But it was an accidental takeover, spurred by Raylan riding headlong into Bennett territory after Loretta McCready like a lunatic. This is something Tim and Boyd apparently agree upon. Tim finds this extremely distasteful. Except there are key differences. Tim was worried about Raylan getting killed, and Boyd was concerned about the integrity of his narcotics empire.

Tim doesn’t know the penalty for disobedience on this scale. And Raylan acts as if there’s nothing to worry about, because Raylan likes to pretend he’s not under Boyd’s tyrannical thumb.

Boyd won’t kill Raylan. But Tim is sure that he will hurt him, hurt him in some terrible way that Tim probably can’t even imagine.

The only thing Tim can do is lock Raylan up for a while, long enough that at least his gunshot wound will be healed before he goes back to Harlan. When he’s discharged, Raylan can barely sit up by himself. He’s weak and sore and a billion times more vulnerable like this, so Tim tosses him in jail for his own good.

Everyone’s angry at him about this. Boyd, of course. Raylan, who’s incredibly ungrateful. And Art, because Tim wasn’t stealthy at all and didn’t cover his tracks. So Art thinks having Raylan arrested is some intelligent ploy to get at Boyd, not a last ditch effort to keep Boyd from beating the shit out of Raylan.

Tim has Raylan brought to the Marshals’ office every two weeks. They sit in the conference room and go over Boyd’s massive file. This proves to Art that Tim is trying. In reality, Raylan’s not helping at all. All he ever says are “No,” “I don’t know” and variations of “fuck off.”

Sometimes he takes his pain meds right before the meeting and drools his way through the entire hour. Raylan is such a dick.

Occasionally, Boyd shows up with his lawyers when he finds out Raylan’s there. Tim has successfully kept him from seeing Raylan since the shooting, though Raylan says he’s had some proxy communications with other Crowder employees.

The lawyer has no right to see Raylan, though, since he’s being interviewed as a witness, not a suspect.

“You seem unaware Harlan has running water and indoor toilets, these days,” Boyd says, “Your paperwork just clogs the pipes.”

Tim deciphers that, keeping an eye on the elevator that Raylan will be coming out of shortly. “You’re wiping your ass with my warrants?” he asks. “Watch out for papercuts.”

He tries to distract Boyd as jail guards lead Raylan towards the conference room, but Boyd turns and sees him.

“Hey, Raylan,” Boyd hollers. “You want your lawyer?”

“I want _out_ ,” Raylan yells back. “Get me out.”

The guards shove him out of sight, but not before Boyd screams, “Don’t you say shit!” at the closing door.

Boyd stays in the bullpen with the useless lawyer during that interview.

Raylan is even quieter than usual.

The only time Tim gets to talk to him openly is when he takes Raylan to the bathroom at the end of each visit. With Boyd in the vicinity, he won’t even relax there. It’s very unsettling to see the affect Boyd has on him. Raylan will never, ever admit it, but he acts like Boyd owns him. Tim hates it.

“End of the month,” Boyd tells Raylan, when he’s being taken back to the elevator. “You’ll be out after the hearing.”

Raylan shrugs, in his shackles. “You know, they search inside my asshole every time I come here.”

Tim isn’t sure who he’s complaining to. He’s let the guards do the typical prisoner-transfer stuff. Primarily so he won’t end up having sex with the prisoner in his workplace, but he didn’t think about what it meant for Raylan.

Boyd rants about police sexual abuse and Tim ignores him.

“We’ll send you an itemized list,” he tells Boyd. “You can invoice us.”

Raylan averts his eyes and for a moment Tim feels a little bad.

“That’s funny because prostitution is illegal, and we can arrest you for it,” Rachel says, while Boyd just looks offended.

Tim watches the guards haul Raylan into the elevator. When he looks away, he finds Boyd studying him.

“You want him to stay out,” he says, changing the subject, “hire a taxi to bring him home.”

~

Tim ends up driving Raylan back to Harlan. Boyd declined to line up any more of his employees for arrest, though after months of Raylan playing mute and Boyd’s attorneys burying everyone in paperwork, that’s not actually going to happen.

Raylan might still be pissed at him, judging by the look on his face when Tim pulls up outside the jail.

“You frisk yourself for narcotics?” Raylan asks, scowling at the SUV.

“I’m clean,” Tim says. “I promise.”

Slowly, Raylan climbs inside. He’s moving a lot better now, but still a little stiff on the side the bullet went through.

“I know it was you,” Raylan says, as soon as the door is shut.

Tim starts the vehicle. They never had this argument during their meetings, since Raylan was mostly communicating through hostile stares and drugged stupor silences.

“Never said it wasn’t,” Tim says, as they cruise out of the parking lot.

“So, you figure Boyd would get less mad, over time, and not, say, use that time to fully develop his anger?”

Tim shakes his head. “I figured it would buy you four months away.”

“In jail.”

“In a jail clinic.”

Raylan heaves an exasperated breath and twitches like he would like to jump out of the moving SUV. Tim immediately reaches over and hits the child locks.

“Yeah, I just did that,” Tim says, as Raylan glares.

“Morgan Freeman never locked Miss Daisy in,” Raylan says, sulkily, after a moment.

“I don’t recollect the part where he took Miss Daisy to work in Boyd Crowder’s brothel,” Tim mutters. “You ain’t Miss Daisy, you’re -” he cuts himself off.

“A cocksucking whore,” Raylan interjects, like he thinks that was the end of Tim’s sentence.

Tim shakes his head. He tries not to take his eyes off the road. “When the fuck have I cared about that?” he asks.

“Since always,” Raylan says. “Your seething ain’t subtle.”

“That’s actually one of my favorite things about you,” Tim says. “That’s not what I’m seething about, and you know it.”

“And you know I can’t change what you’re pissed about, so –”

“I will take you anywhere,” Tim interrupts. “I will take you outside of Kentucky. Make up some shit for the Marshal service, whatever. Not asking you to flip on him, asking you to get out.”

Raylan doesn’t say anything.

“What’s he going to do?” Tim asks. “You think he’s going to chase you? Boyd Crowder is Harlan lowlife royalty, but he ain’t shit elsewhere.”

“Come with me,” Raylan says, quietly.

“What?” Tim reacts without thinking.

“I don’t see how elsewhere is better,” he says, tightly. “Without –”

“Elsewhere is better,” Tim interrupts. “But I can’t –”

“Can’t ask me to do something you won’t,” Raylan says. “So unless you plan on throwing me in lockup again – which I wouldn’t try my forgiveness – take me back to Harlan.”

“I don’t care if you forgive me,” Tim says, testily. “And I’d lock you up in a second again if it’d get you free of Crowder permanently.”

“You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘free,’ then,” Raylan spits.

Tense silence settles over them, but Tim doesn’t think Raylan’s going to jump out of the car, this time. In fact, in a couple of minutes, he feels Raylan’s hand settled gently on his thigh, squeezing.

“You will make me crash the car,” he warns.

“Seems like an extreme means of stalling taking me back,” Raylan says, softly. His finger tips tap against the denim, moving upwards.

“I can think of better ways,” Tim tells him.

“Me, too.” Raylan’s fingers are dangerously close to Tim’s crotch. “You know, Deputy. You never searched me for contraband.”

For the first time, Tim takes his eyes off the road and turns his head to look at his passenger. He also sees a sign for a hotel out the window over Raylan’s shoulder.

“You still have terrible pickup lines,” he says, and Raylan smiles.

~

They may not be able to have a conversation without it devolving into arguing about Tim’s futile obsession with Boyd, but they still have amazing sex.

The hotel room feels like a palace to Raylan, though Tim inspects the linens for bedbugs like a snob. It’s a stark reminder of which one of them has spent the last few months in jail. And despite Tim’s insistence, a jail clinic is still a jail.

Tim’s springing for the room, and he feels guilty even if he refuses to admit it. Raylan can think of no other reason why he gets the deluxe suite with the Jacuzzi tub. Unless it’s because he wants to fuck Raylan in the bath, which Raylan is also okay with.

At first Tim grabs him with the usual roughness, but as soon as Raylan’s shirt comes off, Tim stops.

“Hey,” Raylan says, because that’s no fun.

“Are you okay to…” Tim trails off, fingers hovering over the gauze bandage still taped to his chest.

“We’ll find out,” he says, grabbing Tim and manhandling him towards the bed so he knows Raylan’s still Raylan.

But Tim is, of course, irritatingly considerate. He props Raylan up on the bed against pillows and pins him there by the hips when Raylan tries to move.

It’s still kind of weird being the recipient of enthusiastic oral sex, since most of Raylan’s clients want it done to them, not the other way around. Tim’s mouth is warm and eager and he knows exactly what sets Raylan off.

In their hurry, neither man got undressed. Raylan’s jeans are around his knees and Tim is basically still fully clothed. Along with his breath against Raylan’s thigh, he can feel the cotton of Tim’s undershirt.

Tim looks ridiculously debauched, fully dressed but his lips red and plump and…

“You got something on your face,” Raylan says, a little out of breath.

Carefully, Tim crawls up the bed ‘til he’s even with him. Raylan grips the undershirt and tugs him closer, licking the strand off of Tim’s chin and cheek. He tastes himself and enjoys the bristly skin against his tongue.

He’s not allowed to give Tim hickies, of course. But he can kiss along his jaw line and suck on Tim’s skin as long as he’s gentle.

And Tim just lets him do that, for a long time, even though he can feel Tim’s erection against his side.

Raylan doesn’t actually know what positions he can have sex in without pain shooting through his torso. And Tim is pretty much the only partner who’s going to give a damn about it, too.

“Let’s get in the tub,” Raylan suggests. Tim tilts his head, looking interested. “Maybe you should take your clothes off, too.”

“This is a little bit too much like cuddling,” Tim bitches, when they’re in the Jacuzzi.

“If you want, I can hold your head under water and we can fight for a while,” Raylan offers.

“I’m good.”

Sex in the water is a little challenging. Raylan angles himself on his back so Tim is underneath, and puts one foot up on the side. There’s lots of splashing, and Raylan does dunk Tim a couple of times purely because it’s funny.

But then Tim is inside of him, thrusting. The movements do make his stitches feel weird, and he focuses on Tim’s grip on his hips and the hot girth inside him, until the pain vanishes.

One of Tim’s hands lifts up and closes around Raylan’s dick, somehow slick despite all the water. Raylan rocks into his hand, than back against him, feeling his second orgasm of the night build at the base of his spine. Tim starts pounding faster, a sign he’s about to climax, and Raylan can’t help but to follow him.

Afterwards, they are undeniably cuddling. There are space age buttons on the side of the tub that must be keeping it warm, because the water still feels good.

“Hey,” Raylan says, as Tim nuzzles his neck. “No wet spot.”

“Lots of shriveling, though,” Tim says, lifting his hands from where they’re wrapped around Raylan’s chest and looking at his pruning fingers.

“Speak for yourself,” Raylan retorts, and Tim wraps his hands back around Raylan, hard.

He’s looking at the angry red scar on Raylan’s chest; Raylan can practically feel his gaze.

“Loretta wanted to come say hi,” Tim says, tapping his skin near the wound.

“Yeah?”

“But she wouldn’t come to the clinic because she thought I’d pull a Scared Straight episode on her.”

Raylan laughs. “Was she right?”

“Maybe.” He feels Tim shake his head against his neck. “I take weed off of her, every single time I see her, you know that?”

“Yeah, it’s some good shit,” Raylan says. Tim makes a disapproving noise. “I mean, uh, drugs are bad?”

“That’s convincing.” Tim flicks at his left nipple in annoyance, but it doesn’t hurt. “She’s gotten kicked out of three different foster homes so far.”

“Maybe you should take her,” Raylan suggests. “Finish that class.”

“I did,” Tim says. “Finish the class. Her social worker’s my friend Alison and she begged me to. But I can’t take her ‘cause I only got the one bedroom. Also, there’s the part where she stole my gun and tried to kill someone with it.”

“You didn’t find that endearing?”

Tim snorts. “She comes over on Sundays while her foster family does church stuff. She plays video games and I do not even trust her with those guns.”

“She must like you if she’s giving up the church market,” Raylan says.

“That’s why she’s not allowed to go anymore,” Tim corrects. “She didn’t get caught but there were suddenly dime bags exchanging hands in the pews.” Raylan laughs. Tim asks. “So, you think I could handle her?”

“No,” Raylan admits. “But I think it’d be hilarious to watch you try.”

Tim tries to flick his nipple again, but Raylan traps his hand.

“I am 90% sure she’s selling to Alison,” Tim says. “Seriously.”

“I told you, she’s got good shit,” Raylan repeats.

That gets him squeezed harder, though Tim moves his hands down and away from Raylan’s injury.

“I’m going to dunk you unless you say drugs are bad and mean it,” Tim threatens.

“Drugs are g-r-r-r-eat,” Raylan says, imitating a cereal commercial.

He tries to hold his breath, but he’s laughing too hard and inhales a mouthful of water as Tim drags him under.

~

After they leave the hotel, it’s back to reality. Tim is still driving Raylan back to Harlan, back to the brothel where he lives, and back to Boyd Crowder. It still makes Tim feel crazy. Raylan, though, is cool as ever. He either isn’t that afraid of Boyd, or refuses to show any fear to Tim.

“Drop me off like a mile away?” he says.

“Will I embarrass you in front of your friends?” Tim mutters.

“They might shoot at you,” Raylan says, honestly. “Also, the fewer reminders of law enforcement, the better Harlan is for everyone.”

One of Audrey’s girls is actually waiting for Raylan at the spot where he asks Tim to leave him.

“Ellie May,” Raylan says. “She’s moved into my trailer. I’m gonna have to fumigate. Maybe burn the bed.”

Tim can’t even laugh. He doesn’t want Raylan to get out of the car.

And Raylan can certainly read the emotion on his face, but he’s still going.

“Hey,” Raylan says, undoing his seatbelt. He leans across the cup holders, and presses his face into Tim’s neck.

“Try not to die,” Tim says, finally. And he means it.

“I won’t,” he says, voice light. He leans further, finding Tim’s mouth.

They don’t kiss for long enough, in Tim’s opinion. Too soon, Raylan is pulling away, even though Tim stubbornly tries to hold on. He can only watch as Raylan pops the door open and starts to climb out.

“You know,” Raylan says. “The hospital lost my hat.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Tim says. “Maybe your cowboy days are over.”

Raylan smiles at him, but then he steps out and closes the door. Tim looks on as Ellie May comes bounding over, arms wide to hug him. Shortly, they vanish into the darkness together, and there’s nothing more to watch.

Tim sits there a while, anyway. He doesn’t think Raylan is going to come back, but still.

Before he gets back on the road, he checks his phone. There are no texts from Raylan, but there are three missed calls from Rachel and a couple of text messages, too. Evidently, he took home a file she has to review before she has court tomorrow and she needs it tonight.

Guiltily, Tim sends her a text telling her he’ll be home about 30 minutes later than he figures it will actually take him. Long enough for him to pretend like he was doing something else, something innocuous, something not Raylan, all day. It’s going to be super late and she’s going to be pissed if she has early court. Rachel instantly replies that she’ll meet him then.

The ride back is quiet and empty without Raylan. Tim tries not to think about what’s happening inside Crowder’s bar. He chases a classic rock station that keeps fading on the radio and tries to come up with passable lies about how he spent the day ignoring Rachel’s calls.

That’s what he’s thinking about when he arrives back at his apartment complex. It took a little longer than he expected, so she’ll be here soon. He’s also not quite sure where he put her file or why he took it.

Tim unlocks his door and pushes it open, mind on that. He doesn’t register anything else, before something slams hard into his groin and a fist rockets into his face.

The blow to the balls is worse than the shot to the head. Tim is aware he’s lying on the rug, trying to keep his gorge down and not vomit. Whoever hit him removes his gun from its holster and kicks his door shut.

There’s more than one person in his apartment. Another pair of arms drags him a few feet, then drops him. A big black boot crashes down on his right wrist – the other steps dangerously on his neck, holding his head turned half into the carpet.

He can’t see anything but feet, but he knows guns are out just beyond his field of vision.

“Hello, Deputy,” a syrupy, menacing voice says. “Be a good neighbor and don’t get any of yours killed tonight, alright?” The weight on Tim’s neck increases enough to threaten his breathing, but then retreats. “You have the right to remain silent, or Cousin Johnny here will crush your trachea for me.”

Boyd Crowder isn’t the one standing on his neck, but he leans in so Tim can see his face even pressed to the floor like he is.

Tim knows what kind of man he is. He’s read the entirety of the massive file the Marshals have on Crowder. There have been a lot of murders, usually with explosives or bullets, often with henchman but also some done personally. But, until now, Tim’s only seen the civilized, loquacious act Boyd puts on in the company of his lawyers. He‘s known it was always an insincere and insane performance, but mostly it just bored him.

Looking up into Boyd’s dark, wild eyes, Tim has suddenly met the real man behind the shitkicker clown act, and he is afraid for his life.

Boyd crouches down, and now Tim can see his own gun in one of his hands. In the other hand, though, is what makes him stop breathing. He’s holding Raylan’s hat, which Tim swiped from the hospital bag of his possessions after the shooting.

“Now, Deputy,” Boyd says, in his most sincere voice. “You’ve been stealing from me.”

He twirls Raylan’s hat around by the brim, then rests it on his knee.

“I-“ Tim tries to talk.

But the weight on his throat increases, cutting off his air. He has to gasp for breath afterwards, his words gone.

“No,” Boyd reminds him. “The only possible outcome of you speaking is you getting murdered tonight.”

He taps the barrel of Tim’s own gun against Tim’s chin, and Tim completely believes him.

“Right.” Boyd nods as he stops gasping, open-mouthed, and seals his lips together. He doesn’t move the gun. “I cannot tolerate larceny, Deputy. Not in any area of my diversified business interests, and certainly not at the hands of a man employed by an agency dedicated to destroying all of them.”

The gun travels from Tim’s face, downwards, pressing against his body the entire time. And suddenly it’s up against his aching balls.

“You know, I spent some time in the desert,” Boyd says, tone unchanged. “I learned what they do to thieves, there.”

Tim is too afraid to even flinch. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just stares at Boyd’s awful face. In his head, he’s thinking that Boyd is too smart for this, too clever to kill a federal agent like this. But Boyd’s also impulsive and destructive, and he’s pressing a loaded gun against Tim’s genitals.

Boyd actually enjoys Tim’s reaction. He smiles at the palpable terror, and suddenly the gun is lifted and angled more in the general direction of his head.

“I could shoot Raylan’s balls off,” he says, “And that man would shrug and ask if I’m done.” His grin shows more teeth. “You scare too easy, lawman, especially for a U.S. Marshal.”

The guy standing on Tim’s neck laughs, as does a second thug not in Tim’s field of vision. Boyd just smiles.

“That’s one of my favorite things about Raylan,” Boyd continues. “I can do very painful, very violating things to him, and he’ll grin and ask for more.” He tilts his head. “I think he thinks I’ll stop if he pretends he likes it. Do you think that works, Deputy?”

Tim gives an incremental headshake, all he can manage with the boot on his throat. He suspects he’s being goaded into talking so they can hurt him for it.

“Smart man,” Boyd says. “Not too smart, though. You think Raylan knows where all my cameras are?”

Again, Tim gives a tiny headshake. But, he suddenly doesn’t care. A sex tape isn’t a gun against his head, and it isn’t Raylan living in this lunatic’s clutches. It doesn’t matter.

“Raylan would have told me about you, though,” Boyd says, softly, “if that was the right angle.” He takes in Tim’s disbelief, and shakes his head. “Oh, he knows his angles. Just not as well as I do.”

Tim isn’t following. And he’s actually more worried, because he doesn’t know where Boyd is going with this.

“Move him,” Boyd orders.

The two thugs pull Tim off the floor and drag him towards the couch. Tim doesn’t resist, but he’s too tense to even walk on his own. He’s tossed over the back of the couch, draped there with one thug behind him and the other pinning his face into the cushions.

“You don’t care what I do to you,” Boyd says, “And Raylan doesn’t care what I do to him. What a match.”

Tim starts trembling.

“The worst thing I can do to Raylan, is what I’m about to do to you,” Boyd whispers, all of sudden near his ear. “And I’m sure you can imagine what I’m going to do to Raylan if you don’t do exactly what I tell you.”

“Get his pants,” Boyd orders.

Now, Tim resists. He can’t help it. He’s not thinking, not about himself or Raylan, just about the fact that his belt has been removed and his jeans are on their way down. There’s three of them, though, and he gets only one wild flail with his left arm. Then, a thug grabs it and Tim hears more than feels the crack of his arm bones as it’s twisted unnaturally and pinned down. He might be yelling, because the same accomplice crushes his face into the couch, muffling his cries.

There are rough hands against his ass, pulling his legs apart with terrifying purpose.

And then, Tim’s phone goes off. Rachel’s cheery ringtone is suddenly the only sound in the apartment.

“That’s my partner,” Tim says, managing to lift his head once more. “She’s on her way here and she has a key.” The same thug shoves his face back down, so hard he’s having trouble finding air.

“I thought we had an agreement about silence,” Boyd says, peevishly. “And I don’t think I believe you.”

“She’s going to shoot you in the fucking head,” Tim shrieks, but it’s probably unintelligible with his mouth full of couch cushion.

“Boss,” one of the thugs says from the window, like he’s seen Rachel in the parking lot.

Boyd heaves an exasperated sigh. “Rain check,” he says, back next to Tim’s ear.

“You got five minutes,” the thug holding Tim down says.

“I do.” Boyd pauses. “Devil, go to town.”

The sound Tim hears next, he later determines, is his own belt whipping through the air on its way to his skin. Boyd’s thug beats him wildly, with little aim but lots of force. The belt slices into Tim so hard it feels like something else, something much bigger, and he can’t escape the blows raining down on his backside as he’s held firmly in place.

The beating is both interminable and over instantly. Tim feels liquid heat he knows is blood, but he’s also cold and the pain is almost distant. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, deafeningly fast.

He can barely hear Boyd’s voice, whispering again into his ear. “I don’t want any misunderstandings about the nature of my intentions,” he says. Something wickedly hot and burning slides through Tim’s back, near his shoulders. “My apologies for a poor substitute,” Boyd says, and Tim realizes he’s been stabbed.

“We’ll talk more about what you’re willing to do, so I won’t do to Raylan,” Boyd murmurs.

Then, all the weight is off Tim. But he can’t move, just draped helplessly over the couch back. He can feel the knife, burning a hole in his body.

Boyd and his men are gone. Tim tries to stand up, immediately falls sideways and lands hard on the floor. He sees blood smears on the back of his white couch, feels the buzz of shock that is blocking out the pain but threatening to knock him out with it.

He blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, Rachel is kneeling next to him, screaming into her cell phone. Tim decides it’s safe to pass out, so that’s just what he does.

~

Boyd’s not at Audrey’s when Raylan arrives. And his men pay Raylan virtually no attention. He makes Ellie May move her garbage bags of shit out of his trailer. It’s still incredibly filthy and disgusting, forcing Raylan to reluctantly agree that the jail clinic was, in comparison, not all that bad.

He has lots of time to clean it, though. It involves bartering his remaining pain meds for various cleansers and a vacuum from the girls, but eventually his trailer’s closer to how he likes it.

And then, he has lots of time to sit on the bed and think about Tim. His burner phone is probably still hidden back in the ceiling. He could send a text confirming he’s still alive. Boyd isn’t even here.

Raylan’s about to do just that, when there’s a hard knock at his trailer door.

“What?” Raylan says, because he figures he knows who it is.

Boyd opens the door, steps just inside.

“Where’s your customer service?” Boyd asks, staying in the doorway.

“Don’t pay me to talk nice,” Raylan says, trying to assess Boyd’s body language. He looks relaxed, but he’s also definitely holding something behind his back. That’s worrying.

“Girls steal your pain meds?” Boyd asks, next.

“Gave ‘em up for some soap,” he admits. “Save us all some time.” He looks at Boyd, decides not to wait. “You want something?”

“Not at the moment,” Boyd says, sounding entirely too smug for Raylan’s liking. “I’ll let you settle back in.”

“I’m settled.” Raylan shrugs, even though that still hurts a little. He spreads his arms and leans back on his elbows.

Boyd shakes his head. “I’ve had a long day,” he says. “But I got you a welcome back present.”

Raylan tenses as Boyd ambles closer, pretty sure this is the beating he’s earned. He still can’t see what’s in Boyd’s left hand.

Then, suddenly, Boyd tosses Raylan’s lost hat onto the bedspread between them. Confused, he looks down at it.

“I retrieved it from your U.S. Marshal friend,” Boyd says, with a grin. “And took a little payback, of course, but not more than I’m owed.”

The breath has gone out of Raylan and he can’t even speak. His reaction makes Boyd grin even wider.

“Have a good night, Raylan,” Boyd says, stepping away and backing out the trailer. He leaves Raylan, sitting stunned cold on the bed, staring at the red-brown blotches in the shape of a handprint on the brim of his hat.

 

~comments welcome~


End file.
